thought the goddamned pills were working,” Frankie growls.
“What? They are.”
“Fuck that, then you’re not taking ’em.”
“I am, I am, what the hell are you talking about? Sit down.” Roy looks around the diner; they’re causing a scene. Other patrons are looking, talking. Whispering. “C’mon, siddown.”
“What the fuck is up with you?” Frankie asks, still half standing at the counter. “Tell me what the fuck is your problem.”
“You wanna calm down first, then we’ll talk.”
“We been talking. At least, I been talking. You’ve been uh-huh-ing me and mm-hmm-ing me for thirty goddamned minutes. I’m talking about money here, about ways to make us money, and you’re off in dreamland.”
“That’s not it. That’s—”
Frankie cuts in. “I know this art money is a joke to you. I know ten grand is a joke—”
“Never,” says Roy. “Ten grand is ten grand.”
“—’cause you got so much frigging money, comin’ out your ears, you and your investments and your … whatever you do with it.”
Roy doesn’t know what Frankie knows. Or what Frankie thinks he knows. He’s sure Frankie doesn’t know about the horse. And he’s sure Frankie doesn’t know about the Caymans, the accounts.Beyond that, he doesn’t want to take any chances. Frankie is his partner, and Frankie is a good guy. But Roy’s money is Roy’s money. No one else need concern himself with it.
“Calm down,” Roy suggests. “Just calm down. I don’t know where you get the idea I got so much money.”
“Come off it. We make the same score, I know what you take in.”
“So you got just as much.”
“But I spend it. I buy myself nice things. You got a crappy little car and a crappy little house, and suits ten years old. And you’re always talking about saving your money, rainy day, anything can happen in the life of a matchstick man, all that crap.”
Roy sits back. He breathes deep. Relatively easy. “Where’s all this coming from?”
Frankie plops back down onto the stool. The other diners give up and turn away from the show. “The thing is,” he says, “I still gotta hustle for my money, you know? I still gotta do the things we do just to keep afloat. And it ain’t good for my morale when my partner drops his ass on everything I say.”
“I wasn’t dropping my ass,” Roy says. But he knows he was. He doesn’t always pay attention to Frankie. Certainly wasn’t tonight. “I was just …” Can’t find the right words. Frankie’s hurt, he can see that. Wants to know things will be right again. Roy can fix it. Roy can explain. Hell. It’s gotta come out sometime.
“I got a kid,” Roy says plainly. “I got a daughter and her name is Angela, she’s fourteen, and she’s staying at my place tonight.”
Frankie takes a bite of his burger, laughs through the bun. “Bad joke, Roy.”
“If it’s a joke, I’m still waiting for the punch line.” And he tells Frankie the whole story.
All the way down to the docks that night, Frankie lets Roy know exactly how he feels about the situation. “It ain’t good. It ain’t good at all.”
“It’s temporary,” Roy explains. “She had a fight with her ma, she’s staying for a day or two until things cool off.”
“All I’m saying is, you don’t know what having a kid is like.”
“And you do?”
“I don’t. But I wouldn’t take one on just like that—just ’cause my shrink said it’d be good for me.”
“She’s my—she’s from me. I made her. In part, I—look, I got a responsibility now. Some kind of responsibility, whatever. And if that’s what it takes to do my part, then that’s what it takes.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“It’s not.” They arrive at the docks, and Roy parks in the same spot, edged up against Saif’s warehouse. “She doesn’t know what I do, she’s not involved.”
“Sounds like she wants to be.”
“But she’s not, and it’ll stay that way. You don’t wanna see her, you don’t
“What? They are.”
“Fuck that, then you’re not taking ’em.”
“I am, I am, what the hell are you talking about? Sit down.” Roy looks around the diner; they’re causing a scene. Other patrons are looking, talking. Whispering. “C’mon, siddown.”
“What the fuck is up with you?” Frankie asks, still half standing at the counter. “Tell me what the fuck is your problem.”
“You wanna calm down first, then we’ll talk.”
“We been talking. At least, I been talking. You’ve been uh-huh-ing me and mm-hmm-ing me for thirty goddamned minutes. I’m talking about money here, about ways to make us money, and you’re off in dreamland.”
“That’s not it. That’s—”
Frankie cuts in. “I know this art money is a joke to you. I know ten grand is a joke—”
“Never,” says Roy. “Ten grand is ten grand.”
“—’cause you got so much frigging money, comin’ out your ears, you and your investments and your … whatever you do with it.”
Roy doesn’t know what Frankie knows. Or what Frankie thinks he knows. He’s sure Frankie doesn’t know about the horse. And he’s sure Frankie doesn’t know about the Caymans, the accounts.Beyond that, he doesn’t want to take any chances. Frankie is his partner, and Frankie is a good guy. But Roy’s money is Roy’s money. No one else need concern himself with it.
“Calm down,” Roy suggests. “Just calm down. I don’t know where you get the idea I got so much money.”
“Come off it. We make the same score, I know what you take in.”
“So you got just as much.”
“But I spend it. I buy myself nice things. You got a crappy little car and a crappy little house, and suits ten years old. And you’re always talking about saving your money, rainy day, anything can happen in the life of a matchstick man, all that crap.”
Roy sits back. He breathes deep. Relatively easy. “Where’s all this coming from?”
Frankie plops back down onto the stool. The other diners give up and turn away from the show. “The thing is,” he says, “I still gotta hustle for my money, you know? I still gotta do the things we do just to keep afloat. And it ain’t good for my morale when my partner drops his ass on everything I say.”
“I wasn’t dropping my ass,” Roy says. But he knows he was. He doesn’t always pay attention to Frankie. Certainly wasn’t tonight. “I was just …” Can’t find the right words. Frankie’s hurt, he can see that. Wants to know things will be right again. Roy can fix it. Roy can explain. Hell. It’s gotta come out sometime.
“I got a kid,” Roy says plainly. “I got a daughter and her name is Angela, she’s fourteen, and she’s staying at my place tonight.”
Frankie takes a bite of his burger, laughs through the bun. “Bad joke, Roy.”
“If it’s a joke, I’m still waiting for the punch line.” And he tells Frankie the whole story.
All the way down to the docks that night, Frankie lets Roy know exactly how he feels about the situation. “It ain’t good. It ain’t good at all.”
“It’s temporary,” Roy explains. “She had a fight with her ma, she’s staying for a day or two until things cool off.”
“All I’m saying is, you don’t know what having a kid is like.”
“And you do?”
“I don’t. But I wouldn’t take one on just like that—just ’cause my shrink said it’d be good for me.”
“She’s my—she’s from me. I made her. In part, I—look, I got a responsibility now. Some kind of responsibility, whatever. And if that’s what it takes to do my part, then that’s what it takes.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“It’s not.” They arrive at the docks, and Roy parks in the same spot, edged up against Saif’s warehouse. “She doesn’t know what I do, she’s not involved.”
“Sounds like she wants to be.”
“But she’s not, and it’ll stay that way. You don’t wanna see her, you don’t
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